And the Ice will Melt Away
by ohmytheon
Summary: There's a possibility that Sansa could be happy with her match in the Smalljon Umber; and that both terrifies her and makes her smile.


Author's Notes: This has become one of my favorite crackships out there, but let's be real, my main Sansa ship is Sansa/happiness, so any time I can give her that, I'm more than happy. Screw D&D and their ridiculousness.

Disclaimer: If this shit was mine, Sansa would be HAPPY and SAFE.

 **And the Ice will Melt Away**  
 _part i_

She picked at her hair nervously, unable to stop herself, though she knew that he wouldn't care about her hair. He didn't care about any of that. One time, just a moment before he'd arrived at Winterfell, she'd tripped on a bit of ice and fallen onto the ground. When she'd picked herself up with Jeyne Poole's help, she'd had dirt on her dress and her hair had come undone; of course he'd appeared in front of her right then, but he'd just smiled and asked if she was alright, never once commenting on her appearance. She liked that about him. He never picked at her, never seemed to want her to improve, was always perfectly content with how she acted and looked.

Of course she was nervous though. He was of the North, strong, rugged yet handsome, and older than her as well. She had commented that she was worried that she was too much of a Southerner for him, but he'd shaken his head and told her, _"If anything, I am too Southerner for you. The Starks have winter in their bones, and you have it more than most, perhaps from your time in the South."_

If she could pinpoint the exact moment when she realized that she felt strongly for him, it would have been then.

"You know, if you keep picking at your hair, it's just going to fall out," Arya drawled from behind.

Sansa turned around to shoot her younger sister a glare, but the other girl just grinned at her. It was a hollow jest, one meant to bring Sansa out of her worrisome daydreams, and it did the trick. She harrumphed and looked back to her reflection. "At least I have hair to pick at," she replied, making herself sound as snotty as possible. "Your hair is still growing into a mess, thanks to all the times you cut it."

At this her sister laughed. There was a smacking sound on the floor, letting Sansa know that her sister had jumped to her feet, and then she felt arms wrap around her and saw her sister's face in the mirror, her sharp chin on Sansa's shoulder. "You do not need to worry so much. He always goes on about how you're the most gorgeous girl in Westeros." When Arya pulled away, Sansa turned in her chair to look as her sister stood with an open expression on her face and her palms up in the air. She then went on in an absurdly deep voice: " _'I've been everywhere with His Grace, fighting battles all throughout Westeros, but I've never seen a girl shine so brightly as Sansa Stark. She's prettier than that first spring snow.'_ "

"Arya!" Sansa proclaimed with a gasp, blush tinting her cheeks. "Stop it. He does not say things like that."

"Does too," Arya insisted, that sneaky grin back on her face. "It's even worse when the others convince him to drink. Just can't stop going on and on about you. Rather annoying really. Dacey always goads him into it, just because she knows it peeves the other men."

Sansa shook her head. "You are ridiculous. You all are."

"Of course _he_ is," Arya replied, shrugging her shoulders. "He's in love."

The way she said the words made it sound like she thought being in love was a foreign concept, something she couldn't possibly imagine feeling. Sansa's heart leapt for so many reasons: one) because she was hopeful; two) because she was scared; and three) because she was worried for her little sister. What did either of them really know of being in love? She had once thought that she loved Joffrey and that he had loved her, but that had all been a lie and a disgusting one at that. And then there had been her embarrassing feelings towards Ser Loras Tyrell and… Well, she had known nothing.

And Arya – brooding, grinning, teasing, light, dark, evasive Arya – there were times when Sansa feared that Arya would never love. Oh, she loved her family. Years and tragedies had passed between them, both of them had died in one way or another, but the second they had been returned to each other, they had loved each other fiercely. Arya was more protective of her than many of the knights that were supposed to protect her were. When Robb had begun suggesting suitors for Sansa, he'd been gentle about it, letting her know that she would have a hand in choosing as well. Arya had prowled about them all like a wolf, nipping at them with words and glares, making sure that they would be good to her big sister, that were proper scared of what might happen should they fall short or hurt Sansa in some way. Her little sister had looked at each suitor with disdain, with distrust, and it was part of the reason why Robb had not brought up the idea of a suitor to Arya. Both Robb and Sansa had thought it…ill.

Jon Umber, otherwise known as The Smalljon, was the only one to pass Arya's inspection, but she still remained suspicious as ever.

There was a knock on the door that startled both Sansa and Arya out of their thoughts. Sansa tried to ignore the way Arya gripped her sword and listened as a timid voice called, "M'lady, Lord Umber has just arrived at the gates."

"I will be right there," Sansa replied. She gripped the skirts of her dress and stood up, her stomach tying itself in knots all over again.

Arya snorted. "Lord Umber."

Sansa shot a look at her sister, who merely shrugged her shoulders again. The dark-haired girl held out her arm, much like a knight would, and Sansa grasped onto it. As they walked out of the room, she thought of all the times she would walk around King's Landing like this with a gold cloak or a knight of the Kingsguard. It was always so disconcerting, having to depend on protection and being watched over by the same men that smacked her or beat her on Joffrey's commands. She glanced at Arya as they walked. If her sister had known that, if Sansa had told her or anyone here of that… She had no doubt that her sister would have tried to kill them all. But most were long dead anyways or forgotten. The Smalljon had asked her only once of her time in King's Landing, but she had pressed her lips together and shook her head, and he had not asked of it since.

When they reached the doors of the Hall, they came to a stop. Arya pulled her arm away and gave a little bow. "I'll leave you to your lord, my lady."

Sansa just laughed and swatted at her sister, who dodged her hand deftly. Arya stood up straight, a smile on her face, turned on her heels, and walked towards the doors leading outside. No doubt she was going to the forge, but Sansa continued the pretence that she didn't know these things. Her eyes turned the door and she took a deep breath. She had no reason to be so nervous – she'd seen him many of times and their betrothal had only become a sure thing a month ago – but there was something about him that took her back every time she saw him.

Maybe it was because he was actually so kind to her that she was still startled. True knights were not supposed to exist. She'd learned that the hard way during her time in King's Landing.

As she opened the door and stepped inside, she spotted her big brother Robb sitting in his chair. He'd been told that they needed to redo this room, to befit the King of the North, but he'd waved it away. All he'd wanted was to repair the damage done to Winterfell so that it looked as it always had. It had looked the same when Starks had ruled as kings in the past as when their father had been Lord of Winterfell, and so it would be the same now. Robb would've found the Great Hall in the Red Keep too lavish and unnecessary.

Standing before him was Jon "Smalljon" Umber. He was easy to spot in a crowd, taller than most, broad in the shoulders, with shaggy brown hair that hung in his eyes. He was even easier to hear, his laughter ringing in the air over everyone else's. Despite all he had seen and lost, he was still able to laugh. She dropped her eyes to the ground, evening her breathing, as she walked towards them.

Robb caught sight of her first, Jon having his back to her. "I've some things to attend to, so you have your leave, my lord."

"Thank you, Your Grace."

Robb stood up, clasped the Smalljon on the shoulder, and then brushed past him. He smiled at Sansa and then left the room.

She was only a few feet away when Jon urned around and noticed her in the room. He looked a little caught off guard, but a wide smile split onto his face. "You're as quiet as a mouse, did you know that, my lady?" he told her, humor lacing ever word.

"Arya's lessons on sneaking must be actually working," Sansa said, trying to bite back a smile and keep a serious look on her face.

It was impossible to do when he suddenly stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her, lifting her in the air and spinning her. She let out a squeal and then laughed, slipping her arms around his neck. One of her slippers fell off and hit the floor, but she could hardly care about that as they kissed. If there was one thing that she truly adored about this silly boy, it was that he was not afraid to show her any affection. Of course he kept a respectable air and distance from her when they were in public, but the moment they were alone, he was not hesitant to kiss her or hold her or tell her how he felt. It had been startling at first, but she'd found that she liked it.

He was so… He was so warm. She'd forgotten what warmth had felt like; she had been so cold for so long. By the time she had come back to Winterfell, safe and sound, she had been made of ice. All of the Stark children had changed in some way. Robb had become like Valyrian steel, like their father's sword. Bran was like the weirwoods. Rickon had been turned wild and fierce like his own direwolf. And Arya had turned into fire. She had become ice, cold to the touch, pretty from a distance, sparkling in the light. But then perhaps the Smalljon had helped thaw her out, with each smile, laugh, joke, and kind word. She had not expected such warmth from anyone like him. His size and build made him very intimidating, but he was a good soul. There was a reason Robb had trusted him with his life.

"I thought you would not be able to come for another moon's turn," Sansa said. She was quite pleased that the case turned out to be otherwise, but she knew that there was a lot of work to be done. Many things were changing now that Robb was King in the North. "I had heard that you would be going to the Dreadfort to…settle some issues."

Very gently, Jon set her back down on her feet and sat down on the bench behind him. He looked away from her, as if hiding from her, but she could tell that he was trying to make light of the situation. She wasn't supposed to know some things that she did, and that only worried her more. "That was supposed to be the case, but I thought that seeing your face before I left would lighten the task." He picked up her shoe and slid it onto her foot.

"Winterfell is very out of the way," Sansa pointed out. "You must have left the Last Hearth early just to come here and you will have to ride twice as hard to get to the Dreadfort on time."

"It was well worth the extra effort." He gave her an almost mischievous look and added, "Besides, you know that I'm not really one for timeliness. That is much more your area."

Her nerves rumbled inside of her, despite the smile she was wearing; and she reached out to touch his face, her fingers brushing against his beard. "You will be careful there, won't you?"

She did not want to tell him of all the rumors she had heard about the Dreadfort and what he would be doing there. There had always been certain rumors about old customs being done there, but Robb tried to shield her from the worst of them, thinking she was too fragile. She wasn't, and it irritated her sometimes to know that Robb kept things from her that could possibly affect her, but she knew that he only had her interests at heart. For the most part, everything she knew came from what Arya had overheard. It was Arya who would slip in unnoticed and listen to all of Robb's concerns and Arya who would relay them back to her. The moment Arya had heard about the Smalljon going to the Dreadfort to take care of some sort of business for Robb, she had rushed immediately to Sansa to tell her.

He grasped her cold fingers and held them in his warm hands. "Of course," he told her. "And as soon as I am done there, I will return here to you, my lady."

"In a timely fashion."

"Yes, in a timely fashion, just for you."

"Or Arya will hunt you down and have your hide," Sansa quipped.

Jon stood up and slid his arms around her again. He was so tall compared to her, reminding her distantly of the Hound, but he was so much warmer and kinder than the Hound. The young man was a true knight, a gallant knight that the songs she'd once sung were meant for. "Your sister need not worry so much," he told her. "I do not plan on ever disappointing or hurting you in any way."

Joffrey had once said something like that to her, a repulsive lie, but Sansa knew in her heart that Jon truly meant it.


End file.
